


Ink

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2644334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karl prepares for a role in which he'll need to write with a quill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2010 for [](http://inell.livejournal.com/profile)[**inell**](http://inell.livejournal.com/)'s [Writing Anniversary Comment Party](http://inell.livejournal.com/795916.html?thread=16562188#t16562188), where [](http://kinderjedi.livejournal.com/profile)[kinderjedi](http://kinderjedi.livejournal.com/) prompted "Karl/Chris, ink." Beta'd by the sharp-eyed [](http://secretsolitaire.livejournal.com/profile)[secretsolitaire](http://secretsolitaire.livejournal.com/).

Karl is getting into character. He’s going to be playing some kind of medieval monk who moonlights as a serial killer. Yeah, Chris has no fucking clue where he finds these scripts. Anyway, he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor by Chris’s coffee table, scratching out arcane messages on expensive hand-made paper with a hand-cut goose quill he bought on eBay in a set of twelve. The ink is lumpy and black and it kinda stinks, and Chris has the nagging suspicion the guy might have made it himself. He’s not capital-M Method, Karl, but he believes in doing his homework for roles.

“You’re staring, mate,” Karl says, without looking up from his secret manuscript.

“Sorry. _Mate._ ”

Karl looks up then, but, Chris thinks uncharitably, only so his eye-roll can be properly appreciated. Chris, therefore, pokes his tongue out in response. It's only fitting.

“C’mere, Pine.” He pats the floor beside him.

Chris pouts, but he goes. And then has to recoil when inky fingers reach for his favourite shirt. Karl tuts at him until he gives in and takes it off, tossing it to safety on the couch.

Then Karl is poking him in the chest with the quill. The thing’s not as sharp as he might have expected.

“You writing ‘property of Karl Urban’ or something?”

Karl snorts as he dips his quill. “That would be creepy, don’t you think?”

Chris opens his mouth, shuts it quickly. Tries again. “So what _are_ you writing?” The words actually come out sounding patient, which is something.

Karl hums, apparently deep in concentration as he drags the old-fashioned pen across Chris’s pectorals. The tip of his tongue is sticking out the side of his mouth, and Chris tingles with wanting to kiss him. “You’ll see.”

Chris sighs. Karl can be a mysterious bastard when the mood strikes.

Eventually, though, Chris’s work as a human canvas seems to be done, and furthermore Karl is cleaning his quill and putting the lid on his foul, probably-homemade ink. “Go and look in the mirror,” he says.

As Chris is rising, Karl slaps his ass. Chris glares, but Karl looks smugly unrepentant. He huffs and heads for the bathroom.

The ink is smeared in places, and it’s begun feathering into his skin. All the same, he can clearly read, in stark black ink:

KARL URBAN THINKS THIS MAN IS ONE SEXY MOTHERFUCKER.

AND KARL URBAN IS NEVER WRONG.

He’s written it backwards so it reads right in the mirror. It’s several minutes before Chris can entirely stop laughing. When he finally manages, he skips out to drag Karl to bed so they can rub off some of this ink all over his white sheets.

***END***


End file.
